


Darker Days

by Staymay5



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Underworld (Movies)
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 13:25:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2852387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Staymay5/pseuds/Staymay5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whouffaldi Underworld AU secret Santa present for gallifreyandeathdealer!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darker Days

He was old: older than dust, older than dirt, older than the line weathered into his face. His spirit had been young once, many years ago, long before he’d known of Lycans or Vampires. He had had a simple life, barley a life at all actually; at least by modern standards.

 

The moment he set eyes on her though, he might as well have set himself on fire and sold himself up the river. He’d been a peaceful man: a blacksmiths apprentice. Ironic seeing as he never intended to use a weapon in his life. It was somewhat of a town joke: the reason they called him Doctor. Doctor stood for something else now: to alter, to deceive, to falsify. It suited him well, but even if it didn’t it wasn’t like it mattered any more. He couldn’t remember his real name anyways.

 

She’d been beautiful and young upon first arriving in the village. Her appearance all too reminiscent of the porcelain dolls travelers would bring through their port. Her father had been a poor fishmonger, but that hadn’t kept her from suitor advances. Clara was her name. Clara, his Clara.

 

_“Excuse me miss,” he said hesitantly. He didn’t want to disturb her reading but, “that’s my book.”_

_She peered at him for a moment before something devilish gleamed in her eyes, “are you sure? You don’t look like the type who’d leave books lying in the square.”_

_He frowned, “well yes I’m sure, I’ll have you know it was my fathers. I must have forgotten it here during my break.”_

_“Oh and what exactly do you do you giant stick insect?” she smirked closing the book now more engaged in their conversation than on whatever content was sealed between its covers._

_He shifted unpleasantly, “I’m a blacksmith apprentice; it’s not ideal but it pays well. Alas I really should be headed back to work.”_

_“Ah, that’s too bad,” she tutted tucking his book underneath her, “and here I thought you’d want your family heir loom back.”_

_His body stiffened, “I **would** like it back, as it is **mine**.”_

_“Come and get it then,” she exhaled like she knew she was playing with fire._

_“I thought you were a lady,” he said torn not quite understanding her game._

_“Like the rest of them then I see,” she sniffed, “well I’ll have you know: I’m not sweeter on the inside and I’m certainly not little-”_

_She squeaked as he made a grab for his book. It was an easy fight, she’d wanted him to win after all. But her scent remained on those pages like a sort of poison… prone to killing a man._

 

000

 

He was about to leave. He didn’t even know what had brought him there in the first place. He belonged locked away in a building somewhere, not standing near the action. But something stopped his feet from leaving. A desperate nagging echoed from the back of his mind overriding the discomfort of the Deathdealers shoot daggered looks at him.

 

His eyes scanned the area trying to understand what his subconscious was picking up on. On the streets bellow people rushed fast, with a desperation to cram their lives full of meaning. A feeling lost to him quite some time ago. The buildings were beautiful in this area, even if he rarely stopped by to admire them himself. Leaning against a gargoyle he sighed, “what am I even doing here?”

 

“Being an idiot,” said one of the Deathdealers before leaping off.

 

“That’s Doctor Idiot to you,” he shouted after despite knowing they were already out of hearing range.

 

Across the way stood a figure, despite originally writing it off as a statue he peered closer. Only then could he make out the subtle way its hair blew in the wind, the delicate curve of its heart shaped face, its short stature. Silently he crept towards her, wishing for not the first time in his life that he was a better at being a Vampire, “Clara?”

 

She turned to look at him, no different than the last time he’d seen her. Her mouth curled up into a sarcastic sort of smile that didn’t reach her eyes. It was her. He knew it was her. It could never be anyone else. But how?

 

“I know you,” she whispered her voice dissolving into mist against the blackened sky, like a dragon about to breathe fire, “I see you.”

 

“And I you,” he breathed back, her presence burning him worse than the sun ever could, “but perhaps my eyes deceive me, or my mind has grown dull these past years.”

 

“Perhaps,” she repeated not answering his unspoken question. Suppose he’d past her thousands of times on the streets bellow. Hundreds of years spent morning a future that could never be, it’d make more sense that he’d simply gone mad.

 

“Are you real?” he asks with the sort of desperation that one could only understand if they had felt a similar sting of separation themselves.

 

All the softness about her seemed to have dissolved over the past years, “yes, yes I am. Do you remember?”

 

“Always.”

 

000

 

_Her father had been a nutter. It only took the town a few months to come to that conclusion. And Clara was nothing if not eccentric herself._

_While she refused to confirm any of the man’s loony conspiracy theories she didn’t deny them. The local baker had come ‘round to gossip about exactly that. He claimed that they were gypsies cursed with the misfortune of being followed by wolves till the end of their days. More importantly they left a path of destruction in their wake. Those who met them were sure to die by those monsters._

_“Is it true?” he asked one Saturday. They were relaxing down by the creek that lead to the river. His legs were outstretched on the grass as he pretended to watch the clouds pass by._

_He noticed the way she wobbled on the stone she was balancing on her lip bit in concentration, “of course it is. Everything I say is true. Did I ever tell you about how I invented fish?”_

_“You invented fish?” he raised an impressive eyebrow at her, “Clara I’m not a pudding brain.”_

_“Of course you’re not,” she smiled hopping to the next stone, “and it’s true, didn’t like swimming alone. And I didn’t have any siblings; it was the only natural thing to do.”_

_He rolled his eyes at her silliness, “of course my mistake. What about the wolves?”_

_She leaped off the stones and landed beside him, “I think I’m going to build a giant clock someday, we can live behind it if ya like.”_

_“Why would we want to live behind a clock?” He furrowed his brow confused._

_She laughed like it was obvious, “so we’ll always have the time.”_

_He frowned, “Clara? What about the wolves your father talks about?”_

_She looked down at him for a moment before seemingly making her mind up on something, “race ya.”_

_And like the fool he was: he chased her. He’ll always chase her._

000

 

He’d followed her home, or perhaps she led him there. It had always been quite difficult to tell with her. He might be the destroyer, the predator, the oncoming storm, but she would still always be the boss one? He wondered if others saw her the same way.

 

“Still a grump I see,” she huffed leading into her place.

 

He frowned at her, or at least he thought he did, it always hard to tell with this face, “I thought you were dead.”

 

“B positive,” she replied. At first he thought it was a commentary on his attitude before she was asking if he wanted the bag in her hand.

 

He gave her a small smile, “prefer it from the tap myself?”

 

She shrugged and popped it open with her teeth. It was strange to see her again after all this time. To sit in her house as she drank, to smile at her, to hear her voice; it was all very surreal.

 

000

 

_It was dark when they arrived in the town with their strange eyes and their paled skin. He had paid them no mind though, between Clara and his apprenticeship he hadn’t really had much time to pay them mind. That is until they took a specific interest in him that is…_

_“I hear they say you’re a Doctor,” came a voice, starteling him from where he was working._

_He sighed, “they call me Doctor. There’s a difference.”_

_“Not how I see it,” the man said with a sly sort of smile that unnerved him, “how about I make you a Doctor for real?”_

_“I don’t know what you’re selling moon face,” he scoffed at the ridiculousness of it all, “but I ain’t buying.”_

_“Moon face?” the man laughed, “you got some fight in you. I like that.”_

_“Yeah you’re all shiny and white like a moon at harvest,” he huffed resuming his work, “like I said: not interested. I’ve got things to take care of here.”_

_“Like?” the man asked and for a moment there was something about his eyes he couldn’t quite place._

_The answer was obvious: Clara. Anything else he’d throw away in a second. Not her though. Not the bossy way she moved his life. Not the not funny jokes that she traded with him in secret. Not the way when he was with her he knew **who** he wanted to be, “none of your business.”_

_The man laughed again before the atmosphere turned serious, “I know you know about the wolves. The others in this town have told me . I’m giving you a chance to survive, a better life.”_

_“The life I have now is fine thanks,” he responded gruffly._

_The air seemed to chill around them, “it won’t be. The Lycans will come. I am offering you protection under me: a chance to fight.”_

_“Lycans? What does that even mean?” He frowned, “I don’t tolerate nutters around here.”_

_The man didn’t seem to catch his lie, but there was disappointment in his eyes none the less, “I wish you would reconsider. Half the men have already agreed to the fight and your one I truly think I could count on.”_

_“Not a fighter,” he said with a tight smile dismissing the man. He wished he had reconsidered._

000

 

“Where have you been all these years?” he asks quietly rolling around some bit of junk she had on her counter. He hoped he came of firm. He was saving mad for later. And for now he let the instinct to give in to her rule strong over him.

 

She sighed leaning next to the counter in front of him. He knew if he stood he’d tower over her, but for the moment, her stand and him sitting, they were eye to eye. Releasing her bottom lip she started, “a little of here, a little of there. I go where I’m needed I suppose.”

 

_I need you,_ he thought. He doesn’t dare say that out loud though. His heart too full for goodbyes, to full of regret and fear to let anything in, so although he knew he should have said it he didn’t. Instead he said, always was about the travel for you, the addiction, wasn’t it?”

 

“I was there for _you_. I watched out for _you_ ,” she spat like it was acid, “but you never heard me, did you? You could have found me, but no, you didn’t.”

 

“Clara, my Clara I did find you… and I must have dreamed you a thousand times,” he said with a voice like ice and eyes to match. He’d always been strange that way, confusing her with whether he was changing or not.

 

“Dreams are but the echoes of memories,” she said softly.

 

“Yes, I suppose they are.”

 

000

_They’d been lying by the creak again bathing in sunlight. They did that a lot. Her head rested upon his chest as she played with a wild flower she’d picked, “how do you ‘suppose we’ll die?”_

_“Well that’s a rather morbid question,” he muttered pressing his face into her hair._

_She sighed, all the petals now gone from her flower, “it’s just I have this feeling-”_

_“What are you now one of those fancy fortune tellers they used to have in ancient Greace?” He hated when she talked like this, mostly because it was something he wasn’t particularly fond of thinking about._

_She opened her mouth to say something when they heard shouting in the distance, “you don’t think?”_

_“I never do,” he said hopping up and grasping her hand._

_It was only a matter of minutes to get back to the village. Flames whirled up left and right as men they’d never seen pillaged and plunder. It was mid-day! Where were all the men who’d promised to fight?!_

_“We have to help get people get out of here,” she exclaimed pulling on his hand. But he didn’t holder her tight enough and within seconds she was out of his sight. Panic immediately set in but there was only one thing he could think to do: go to work._

_He’d just made it inside when he was caught off guard, “now I’m going to present you with two choices: join us and live forever or… die here and now.”_

_Calmly he reached behind him, “actually I think I’ll choose option three!” And like that he ran the man clean through with a personally crafted broad sword._

_Now he wasn’t a killing man. Even in that moment he maintained that mantra. He wasn’t a killing man, but hell if he couldn’t be pushed to kill._

_Quickly he was off to find Clara. It wasn’t that hard of course. She just had to go and try to drag people out of buildings… buildings that were falling apart… people that seem to be catching fire for no reason?_

_“Clara,” he called desperately. Why’d she always have to be like this?_

_“Over here,” she smiled at him from across the way, right before the archway collapsed._

_“Clara!”_

000

 

“You still doing the killing this,” he asked despite knowing there was no way he could say it without sounding disapproving.

 

“Hunting,” she corrected sitting across from him, “or Deathdealing, call it what you will. Why? Does it still bother you?”

 

“Just thought Curella DeVile would have out grown her hobby by now,” he shrugged examining his nail beds.

 

“You do realize there’s a war going on, right?” she laughed and shook her head, “oh Doctor. You’re as dense as you’ve always been. Is this why you’ve returned? So I can take care of you.”

 

There was no good answer to that question. Saying yes would make him seem weak. Saying no could mean this would end. “I’ll be staying, things can be like they were.”

 

“Things can never be like they were,” she stated lightly, “you should know that Doctor.”

 

“Ah, but you’re the impossible girl,” he said countering the argument.

 

“Yes, I ‘suppose I am.”

 

 

000

_“I am the Doctor”, he whispered looking out the window watching the dew collect on the glass, “and I am afraid.”_

_He’d saved her from the town, dragged her out from beneath rubble. He’d been terrified. She’d been so pale, so unmoving, so certainly gone. By the time they’d made it to the edge of the town he could see them: the men from the village. Only they weren’t men. Through the darkness their bodies had begun to contort and deform into hideous things._

_Surely the would have both been done for. Surely this was it for them. Even with a sword at his side, there is no way he could have saved her and defended himself. And if he couldn’t accomplish the first, what was the point of the second. But alas fate saved the day._

_The man who propositioned him a few nights before appeared and drove the beasts away. Ah yes, he did regret his decision. And yet if he’d taken the offer perhaps he’d have remained stuck in his village unable to protect Clara._

_But now opportunity struck again, so he took his chance to strike a deal: Clara’s life for his. What more could he have asked for._

_“Good. Fear is a super power. Fear can make you faster- stronger,” she said lying behind him, her breath ragged, waiting to be save. And he would save her_

_“I don’t need to be faster or stronger.”_

_She gave him a sad smile, “then what do you need?”_

_“Clara, Clara, Clara,” he sighed, “isn’t it obvious.”_

_It wasn’t at least not to her. She’d always seemed oblivious to his affections, “wax for your eyebrows?”_

_“Very funny Miss Oswald,” he rolled his eyes, leave it to her to make about it._

_“I ‘suppose it isn’t,” she sighed, “what now?”_

_“Run away with me?”_

_“I’m not sure I can,” she said sadly._

_“Then what do I do?” He asked lost. Someday they’d be together, if the fates allowed. It didn’t make now any more torturous._

_“Run. Run you clever boy, and remember me.”_

000

“Are you coming or what?” She asked, her back to him gearing up. He watched her silently biting his tongue.

 

“Coming where?”

 

“You said you want to stick around,” she huffed turning to face him and tucking her guns into their holster “I’ve still got a job and a life.”

 

“I’m not a killer,” he said seriously peering at her.

 

She looked wounded, but bit her lip and straightened up none the less, “neither am I. Why can’t you just- I’m one of the good guys.”

 

“You’ve always been an exceptional Deathdealer Clara,” he sighed, “goodness had nothing to do with it.”

 

One would think this would branch off into a fight, but it didn’t, not really. It was almost like slipping into an old pattern of theirs adoration thinly veiled in insults. It was like coming home for both of them. If only time would truly heal all wounds.

 

000

_“I’m still afraid,” he said quietly to the night air knowing it was his time to go. That was the deal: Clara’s life for his. Now that she was saved he had a barging to live up to, and there was no way he was taking her with him._

_“Afraid of what?” She mummer leaning into his side, her eyes so very different than they once were, looking at the stars._

_“Being afraid,” he breathed knowing that if she’d been anyone else he’d never have said it out loud , “that silly isn’t it?”_

_“Nothing wrong with silly,” she smiled._

_“Have I made a mistake,” she looked at him frowning, “am I a good man?”_

_“You’re exactly the kind of man I deserve,” she answered. The statement truer than either could actually grasp at the moment._

_“For now,” he whispered, “but when a man walks with the monsters…”_

_“Always. Doctor,” she interrupted “fear doesn’t have to make you cruel or cowardly. Fear can make you kind. Fear can bring you home to me.”_

_“Good-bye Clara.”_

_“Good-bye…”_

 

000

 

 


End file.
